


Don’t Be Square

by BabeManicone



Category: Beydan - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabeManicone/pseuds/BabeManicone
Relationships: rich girl & a greek italian boy
Kudos: 1





	Don’t Be Square

Jordan’s feet hurt. That is his most pressing thought as he crosses from the seating area to the kitchen of his restaurant. The bell over the front entrance chimes, he glances at the clock, it’s less than ten minutes until closing so he tries not to look too annoyed. This customer is  _ strange, _ to put it kindly, and he’s not afraid of strange—he knows it very well—but her variety of strange makes his eyes squint involuntarily. She wears silk zebra pajamas, a cowhide jacket, obnoxiously bright jewelry, and boots that glitter under fluorescent lighting and seem too big to walk comfortably in. The outfit he can overlook, he’s not a man that judges based on the clothes you wear. What perplexes him is her taking the time to inspect or maybe admire the furniture, the art on the wall and the pattern the tiles are laid in on the floor.

He’s urged to feel flattered, this place was built by his grandfather then passed down until it fell onto his shoulders and his first order of business was to restore and upgrade it. He did it himself, putting years of carpentry work to good use, just because he felt it would honor his grandfather if he did things the same way he had. Right now though, it’s almost,  _ almost _ time to go home, he’s aching and his clothes smell like grease, right now is not the time for sentimentality. The back of his hand raps against the bell at the register. 

“You got 7 minutes, order something.”

She closes the gap between her and the counter, reaching behind herself and pulling a fanny pack strapped around her waist to the front. “You’re not Frank,” she observes. 

Jordan looks down at his nametag. “No, I’m not.”

“Are you his son?”

He scowls, does he look that old? “Grandson.”

Her eyes are an odd shade of brown and they dim a little at his words.“He died?”

“You knew him or something?”

“I remember him.” She smiles, retrieving a picture from her fanny pack and presenting it to him like it’s a form of payment. In it, she’s  _ here,  _ smiling wide at a birthday party with the same full brown hair and behind her, leaning over to fit into the picture is, sure enough,  _ his nonno,  _ Frank Manicone. 

Jordan rolls his eyes, there’s likely hundreds of people with pictures just like this, Frank Manicone had a big heart, Jordan Manicone can’t be assed.“You didn’t know him. You met him.”

“I remember him being very nice to me and you are not that nice.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s life.” He flips the picture over and finds the date scribbled on the back in his father’s handwriting. “He died like two years after this.” Two years and four days, Jordan remembers this well, because it was his 12th birthday and he spent it in a hospital. 

“I think I remember your dad too.”

He tosses the photo onto the counter. “Again: dead. Did you come here to recount memories? Because in that case you should do it at normal business hours with someone who cares.”

Her fingers drum the desk and she huffs, skimming over thick wads of cash in her fanny pack and producing a sturdy black card. “Okay, I’ll take a slice.”

“Thank you.”

He dips into the kitchen, no longer than it takes to place a slice of pizza on a paper plate inside a small cardboard box and returns to find her sitting in a booth, undoing the front buttons of her pajamas.

He taps the bell again. “Hey, knock it off.”

“It’s hot,” she complains and doesn’t feel the need to take off her jacket.

“Luckily for you, you get to pick this up and leave.” He holds the box out towards her and raises his eyebrows when she doesn’t get up, opting instead to petulantly stomp her feet.

“Could you humor me a little bit and bring it to me, pleaaaase?”

“No,” Jordan glances at the clock again, “We’re closed. Get this and get out.”

Her bottom lip inches out slowly and she hangs her head. “It would mean a lot.”

His eyes turn heavenward. “Christ,” he says and then drags his feet to where she is.

“Thank you, Jordan.” Then, she jumps up and presses her lips to the side of his face. He turns a light shade of pink.

“Yeah? Thank me by being gone by the time I get back.”

She grabs his arm. “Where are you going?”

He blinks slowly. “We’re closed. I gotta clean up.”

Her face brightens. “How about you sit with me and I help you clean up?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Why?”

“Something tells me you don’t clean.”

“I clean! Very well too!” When the look of disbelief doesn’t disappear from his face she adds on, “I haven’t in a while but it’s like riding a bike.”

“What are you lonely or something?”

“Yes! Plus, I went out of my way to find this place and did a lot of googling to make sure it was the right one. There are many, many Frank’s in New York.”

Jordan’s feet do hurt so he slides in the booth across from her, fighting a smile at just how ridiculous this was. “Eat.”

“Share with me?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She huffs again and casts her eyes downward. 

“You are so—,” but he doesn’t finish, he rips the slice in half and takes a forceful bite out of it.

“Thank you kindly.”

He shakes his head. “Eat.”

She picks up her half and it almost makes it to her mouth before she is talking again. “Don’t you wanna know my name?”

“No, I’m good.” Jordan rubs at his temples and if she’s able to pick up social cues, she may get the idea that she’s giving him a headache. 

“Aw, come on, you’re not a little curious?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” When she thinks of a question you can see it on her face. “Do you have any siblings?”

“That's a personal question.”

“Oh.” She raises the slice to her mouth again. “It’s Beyoncé by the way.”

“I did not ask.”

“Well, Jordan? That’s not good manners.”

He rests his head on his hand. “It’s not?”

“No. What would Frank say?”

“Nothing. He died.” 

She pauses and gasps. “That’s not nice.”

“What’s not nice? He died.”

“You are very grumpy and hard to get along with.”

“You are very annoying and shiny.”

Beyoncé twirls a lock of hair around her finger and offers a shy smile. “You think I’m shiny?”

“It’s like you live on a different planet.”

She finally bites into the slice and Jordan would not say it but seeing her smile does stir up some foreign emotion inside of him.

  
“It’s so good,” she slurs out, closing her eyes and really savoring the taste. 

He fixes a nonchalant look on his face and clears his throat. “You should put a little red pepper on there. It’d compliment the cheese.”

She follows his advice sprinkling red pepper flakes on the remaining bit of her slice and dances a little in her seat the moment she starts chewing. 

Admittedly, Jordan feels a little pride, who wouldn’t? He crushed that red pepper himself. 

“You like it?”

“It tastes better than when I was a kid.” She licks sauce off her fingers and forgets her face so he takes a napkin and dabs at the corners of her mouth.

Curiosity nips at him.“What made you come out your way?”

“Hm?”

“You said you came out your way.”

She smiles hard enough to reach her eyes.“Look at you, paying attention when I talk. Recalling details. I feel a friendship coming.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, no, listen! It’s a good story, a little tear jerker.”

“I need a drink for this.”

“Could I get a bottle of carbonated water?”

Jordan blinks and stands up. “You can get a soda.”

She nods. “I’ll take a sprite.”

He returns shortly, soda’s in hand and she takes a long sip before she starts.

“Alright! So! There was this very wealthy couple who had everything they could possibly dream of except a family. They found out they could not have a child of their own. They tried and tried so many years until they finally opted for adoption and found an adorable 8 year old girl.”

“Let me guess, it was you.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Lucky girl.”

“Ah, not so fast you haven’t heard the twist. So, the girl is treated like a princess, her every whim and need catered to. She wants a pony? She gets a pony. She wants a monkey? She gets a monkey. She wants a petting zoo?—”

“Are all of the girls whims and needs related to animals?”

She frowns. “No but she had a bleeding heart, sue her. Anyways, the girl goes to a very nice all girls school when she is 14 and develops what some may call...a rebellious streak. That phrase is very dramatic but she will concede that things may have gotten quite out of control at times.”

“That’s just being a teenager.”

“You understand but the girls parents did not and after a long, hard, four-year battle, the girls father and mother fell victim to an untimely death.”

Jordan hums around his straw.. “I know the feeling.”

“You’re an orphan too?”

“I don’t remember my mom and then my dad,” He gestures around at the room they’re in. “A fire.”

Beyoncé takes one of his hands into both of hers. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s an old pain. Don’t worry about it. We’re talking about you.”

She nods gingerly, the somber expression on her face attempting to melt into a lighter one. “So here the girl is, orphaned a second time, she’s sad of course but this time it’s a little different. She’s an adult, she’s got a car in her name, and as mentioned before, the couple had no other family, she was it, so this time she got a pretty handsome inheritance.”

“I’m sort of rooting for this girl.”

“She would appreciate it.”

“What’s she doing now? How’d she fair out?”

“Time passes, maybe ten years, she is now bored senseless and has realized she cannot find a good trustworthy friend within radius and one day she is up going through an old photo album and what does she find?”

“A photo, I assume.”

“You would assume right. It’s her at her first real birthday party, right in this spot and what she thinks is this booth.”

“So, you tracked it down ten minutes til’ midnight?”

“The girl could not sleep, she had not had a slice of pizza since she was nine and could no longer live with that fact.”

Jordan takes his free hand and wiggles his fingers. “Let me see it again.”

He expects her to let go of his hand to fish the photo out of her pack but is not surprised when she doesn’t, finding it one-handed. He takes in the photo earnestly this time, the checkered floors, the guaranteed wobbling table, the torn cushion seats. He notices her smile is almost the same, if not a little brighter, now and he notices how horribly out of place her parents look in a place like Frank’s.

“What made you have a party here?” He doesn’t really need an answer, when he was a kid he just  _ liked _ being here, his grandfather’s spirit was that infectious.

“I just really liked pizza and it was very last minute because I threw a tantrum at my actually planned party so they found this place on the way home.”

He slides the photo back to her and stands up, stretching. “I’m gonna show you something.”

She follows him back to a roomy supply closet and he cuts on the light revealing a jukebox older than the both of them. “You got 75 cents?”

“I should.” She digs around in her fanny pack while he plugs the machine in. “I do!”

He does the honors of sliding them into the coin slot and lets her pick the song, which she demands he close his eyes for. “Just pick.”

“When you look it puts pressure on me.”

He relents, putting his forearm over his eyes and waiting until he hears the familiar click and faint humming noise that reminds him of when he was small. The song is Escape (The Pina Colada Song) and when he uncovers his eyes he finds her hip swaying, shoulder shimmying and biting a lip.

“It’s a good song.” 

“It’s the best.” She inches closer to his side and her hands go for his trying to pull him into a dance but they’re met with a broomhandle.

“I’ll wipe down tables and you sweep.”

Beyoncé groans. “Aw, man, you were serious?”

“You offered, I declined, you begged.”

“I thought you’d forget.”

“Yeah? I don’t forget, I’m Italian.”

They work pretty well together, she thinks. He even seems impressed with her. She particularly enjoys glancing up and seeing the muscles in his arms and back flex as he moves.

He walks around inspecting the job she did. “That’s actually passable.”

“I didn’t know this was a graded activity.”

“You get a strong B.” In return, he gets a sturdy wack across the ass with a broom.

His lips tug into what Beyoncé would accept as a smile. “Mop, I’ll do the dishes.”

Beyoncé agrees to that and once she finds the mop and bucket in the closet, she’s good to go. 

The front is finished pretty quick and easy, she suspects he’s a neat freak who mops several times a day. This suspicion is confirmed when she makes it to the back and gets to watch him do the dishes, inspecting plates twice over and washing utensils in water that seems hot enough to burn.

“What’s next?”

“I take out the trash and then we’re done.” He drys off his hands and dips out of the back entrance, heroically carrying a large trash bag. 

Beyoncé quickly mops up the little specks of water left behind from the dishwater and then, as she’d been instructed, dumps the mop water and takes everything back to the supply closet. She heads back for the kitchen and on the way hears three alarming sounds in order: a door slamming, sneakers skidding on a wet floor, and the sound of a large adult man hitting the floor. 

She rushes—carefully to Jordan’s side as he lays there quite pathetically like a man whose body is 50 years older than he is. “I am so, so, sorry.”

His eyes are closed, maybe in pain, maybe because he’s willing himself not to kill her. “I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

“You’re gonna be so sore,” she says, helping him sit up and gently pressing her fingers into his back. 

He winces but shakes it off. “I’m always sore.”

She gasps, “I know a great hot tub.”

Beyoncé lives in a penthouse apartment, Jordan expected that, what he did not expect (but probably should have) was just how colorful and  _ fuzzy  _ everything would be.

“You have the house of a powerpuff girl.”

“You watched the powerpuff girls?”

“Sometimes. Who didn’t?”

She laughs, nudging him in the side and hears the quiet, “oof “ noise he makes. 

“Sorry, I forgot.” She guides him to her bathroom after they slip their shoes off and has him sit on the soft ottoman in front of the tub. 

“I like this room.” He remarks and it’s a little dreamy sounding because she convinced him to try half a painkiller in the car ride over. “It reminds me of a peach.”

She starts filling the tub with hot water, dipping a hand in to make sure it’s manageable. “Thank you. You feel a little better?”

Jordan smiles and not by a merely acceptable margin, he smiles with teeth and it meets his eyes. “A little bit.”

“Pick a scent.”

“Oregano.”

“How Italian. Seriously, pick a scent or I will be forced to pick for you.”

“Surprise me.”

“Hm,” Beyoncé says and then she goes into the cabinet where she keeps her candles and figures pina colada would be a funny, mood fitter. She adds salt to the water and her favorite body wash. “I hope you don’t have any allergies I don’t know about.”

“Italian men don’t have allergies.”

“Yes they do.”

“A phrase you’ll never hear an Italian say: I forgot and I need to take a benadryl.”

She turns on the jets in the tub and rolls her eyes.“Every nationality and ethnic group can forget and every nationality and ethnic group can have allergies.”

“Do you know that? Do you know that for certain?”

Beyoncé frowns, she does not know that for certain. 

“Okay. Enough talking.” She gets up and dims the lights before helping him stand up. 

“Strip and get in.”

Jordan, even in his bruised, tired state is quicker than Beyoncé anticipated. His shirt gets pulled over his head and she is enamoured by the way it messes his hair, then by the thin gold chains that draw the eye to his chest and her attention stays there for a while because she has a thing for hairy guys. Her hand itches to just grab and hold one of his pecs but she resists, snapping out of it only seconds too late to prevent this evil, evil, man from dropping every remaining shred of clothing he has.

“Oh, fuck, I was gonna leave first.”

Jordan shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not okay, I looked!” 

“I’m proud of my body, Beyoncé.”

“It’s just rude.” She glances between them again. It’s a really nice dick, she will concede to that. It’s pretty even, it’s tan, a little veiny.

“I don’t care.”

It’s a handsome size. “I care.” She could compare it’s girth to her wrist.

He shrugs again, this time with his shoulders, and climbs into the tub that, even as large as it is, is too small for him. He stretches his arms out over the sides and leans against the cushioned back.

“You rich people know how to live.”

Beyoncé swallows and remembers what words are for. “It has its perks.” 

He picks up the remote that controls the jets and while he plays with different settings she grabs him a washcloth and takes off her jewelry. 

“Are you too sore to wash?”

He shakes his head, dips the cloth under the water then squeezes out the excess and even doing that takes a good amount of effort.

“You’re moving like a turtle.”

“You get my arms, neck and back. I’ll do the rest.”

_ Okay _ , she thinks,  _ he likes to be in charge.  _ She moves behind him and is glad he can’t see her face because she looks like a predator in the wild. “I should probably do your chest too.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

She takes the cloth from him, applying body wash, squeezing until it lathers and then she’s working it gently into his skin, taking extra care where his muscles feel tight. She does his arms first, then his shoulders and back. He’s...very sensitive, when she wipes at his sides it gets a little giggle out of him. When she cleans his chest she lets the washcloth slip to the side and palms at it a little as a reward for not grabbing it. Small victories.

“Beyoncé?”

She looks at his face and it’s very close to hers. “Yes?”

“I think I got it from here.”

“Right. Of course.” She stands up, sighing, taking slow steps towards her bedroom. “But if you need me…”

“No, I should be okay.” He hides a smile.

She disappears for a fraction of a minute and returns with a robe in hand, hanging it on a hook near the door. “For when you get out.”

“Thank you.”

“Yep,”she says melodically,“I’m going for real this time.”

“I’ll see you.”

She blows a raspberry over her shoulder. “You suck.” 

In the time it takes for Jordan to finish up, Beyoncé has showered in the guest bathroom, changed into another pajama set sans pants—she only wore them in the first place to leave the house— and is now deep into playing a game on her tablet.

Jordan’s voice makes her jump. “Every room I walk into gives me whiplash.”

She glances around at the various types of animal print from the rugs on the floor to her sheets and curtains. “It’s the wood paneling isn’t it?”

“That, I like.” He takes a seat next to her on her bed and the scent of coconut drifts in her direction. “I don’t like the chimp.”

She reaches over and squeezes the chimp on her nightstand’s foot, light shines out of its hyper-realistic mouth. “It’s a lamp.”

“My mistake.”

“You didn’t know,”she tosses out and goes back to her game.

Is she...mad at him? Jordan can’t quite figure it out. “What are you playing?”

She squints as if he’s asked the dumbest question she’s ever heard. “It’s candy crush.” Then more swiping. She’s definitely a little mad at him but he can’t figure out why just yet nor can he understand why it is he cares. 

“Never heard of it,” he says, dumbly.

_ Swipe. _ “It’s a matching game. It came out like...forever ago.”

“Seems like a grandma’s game.”

“...It’s for all ages.”  _ Swipe, swipe, swipe. _

Jordan takes a finger and swipes for himself and Beyoncé cries out “Nooo! Jordan! I was saving that!”

“I’m helping.”

“Well, don’t. It’s a strategy game.”

“Thought it was a matching game.”

“It’s a strategic matching game and I can do it myself.”  _ Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe. _

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.”

“You seem a little mad.”

“So?” S _ wipe. _

“Is it because I kicked you out of the bathroom?”

Beyoncé scoffs, “Please.”  _ An incredulous swipe. _

He flips the cover of her tablet closed. “Were you trying to put moves on me, Beyoncé?”

Her brows form a deep V. “You are ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, very.”

Jordan grins and reaches for her ankle. “You like me.”

“I don’t talk to people I don’t like.”

His hand slides up and his fingers gently knead into her calf. “Right...but you like me in a romantic way.”

“If you must know, I do not take rejection well. So what? Boo-hoo, what does that mean in the grand scheme of things?”

“It means you’re a crazy person, you just met me.”

Before she can fire off another smart reply his grip on her leg tightens and he pulls her close, effectively knocking her on her back.

“I know, you could be anybody.” She manages as his face hovers inches away from hers.

“I’m not really anybody.”

“You stick with me, you’ll become somebody.” 

He tilts her chin with his fingers and their lips meet gently at first, rough and lustfully soon enough. It feels like relief, warm and spreading through her body and he’s just gotten started. His lips start work in the sensitive parts of her neck as his hand journeys to the inside of her thighs, trailing over soft, ticklish skin.

Her arms snake around his neck and he dips a hand underneath her underwear, rubbing determined, skilled, fingers against her clit. Her breath hitches in her throat and then she can’t resist pulling open his robe and taking him—stiff and throbbing—into her hand. Under his breath she hears him swear and she gets it, his fingers work at her at a dizzying pace and he climbs over fully between her legs.

“It’s too soon.” His forehead touches against hers and he tries to calm himself down, so it bears repeating. “It’s way too soon.” More to himself than her.

Beyoncé is not so level headed. “What? Why? I’m barely a lady, you don’t have to respect me.”

“I wanna get to know you first.” He kisses her nose, then her lips and chin.

“You are so annoying.”

“It’s how I was raised,” He offers apologetically, “In the meantime…” His mouth travels lower and he shifts her legs up onto his shoulders. 

Okay, she’ll indulge him just this one victory.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
